


Brave New... Something

by Rigel99



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 07:04:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15137753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel99/pseuds/Rigel99
Summary: This set of "00Q MOMENTS" got out of hand so compiling it here with a nice climax to proceedings to follow. :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dassandre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/gifts), [JuJuBee (Marcy09)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marcy09/gifts).



The attraction was immediate, and Bond, despite his obvious leanings in the direction of the female form could not deny the pull on his instincts towards this particular version of the human body and the mind housed within.

And to go from the frequent scolding of which he’d been on the receiving end for many a mission to this…

_“I have a reward system in place for agents who return their equipment intact and…” at this point the young boffin had tipped his face forward to give Bond his best schoolmaster look, “fully functional.”_

_“The reward or the equipment?” Bond had asked._

_“Finding that out is part of the reward,” Q replied, rising from the bench in front of Turner’s Temeraire. Bond watched him go, wondering what brave new world awaited him on his return from Shanghai._

And as Bond wrestled the Walther from the dying hand of his assailant trapped in the jaws of Komodo death, he realised how far he would travel this brave new world to unearth and explore the treasures now occupying Q Branch.

Giving a damn might reap its own rewards, the fading screams of his enemy replaced with the image of his beast devouring the offering he was sure awaited.

* * *

The gun hung loosely by his side, grip barely there. His free hand glanced along the sleeve of the suit, its wearer’s hand resting gently on Q’s hip.

“No one knows where I live,” Q breathed the words against his cheek. “I demand to know how you found me. I know I wasn’t followed.”

Bond said nothing, instead answering with a move of his hand into the pocket of Q’s cardigan.

Q looked down. “You said you’d lost that, lying bastard…”

“You promised me a reward if I brought everything back. And we know it’s… fully functional,” Bond’s lips lightly caressing his jawline. “I’m here to collect.”

“Nine times out of ten, you cause a diplomatic incident that M has to clean up, or several million worth of damage that either I or the taxpayers of another country have to compensate. One sliver of good behaviour doesn’t cancel out a history of misdemeanours, 007.”

Not the response Bond was expecting but nothing if not adaptable to most situations. He leaned back to assess the mark.

The facade was cool, measured, but eyes cannot hide their truths, even behind a lens of slightly distorting glass…

His gaze lingered on Q’s parted lips. “Then small rewards for small deeds?”

We choose the line we walk early in life. In Bond’s case, the line is that split decision taken on every mission to sacrifice or save.

And here he was again, watching himself and Q, weighing up his next move with care and due process. Ever the agent, occasionally the gentleman.

He glanced the back of his fingers along his neck, fanning them out around his throat to feel the swallow of his Adam’s Apple against the rough pad of his palm, and the strong, rapid morse of a pulse against his fingers. Bond moved the hand down, a soft caress of a collarbone before coming to rest on his chest. He sighed, finally looking up from his scrutiny of Q’s lips to meet his eyes once more.

“Reward enough in measure I think,” Bond whispered.

Stepping back, he headed for the door through which he had not arrived. He glanced around in brief assessment. “You have impeccable taste, Quartermaster,” the observation ending on the soft click of the door heralding the closure of their all-too-brief dalliance.

* * *

“Mmmm, that looks interesting. What does it do? Bomb? Sedative? Hidden lock pick?”

Q looked at the only thing on his worktop to which Bond could be referring. He picked it up in one hand, his cup of Earl Grey in the other. “Nothing so dramatic, 007. It does however increase my blood sugar level and calms the murderous thoughts to which I might be occasionally prone when it comes to dealing with gung ho agents. Or more succinctly, in a word, cupcake,” he finished, chomping down on the confection and chewing slowly before washing it down with a mouthful of tea, all the while watched by a bemused Bond, who from the look in his eyes, was happily reliving the memory of their brief encounter the night before.

“What can I do for you, 007? Besides put on a show that is.”

Bond leaned comfortably against the wall opposite Q’s workstation, his hands in pockets. “I’m here to collect my…” he paused, allowing Q his turn to look amusedly bemused. “Walther?”

“Of course, 007. It’s in the weapons hold. If you’d care to follow me…” Q said. Walking towards the steps leading down into the bullpen. He was well aware of the blue hot look tracking his movements, trailing far enough behind him to appreciate the view in high definition. Q pushed open the door and entered. Bond noted he left it open but didn’t comment. “As I didn’t have to repair it at all, I thought an upgrade was in order. Call it a reward for behaving yourself, 007…” He removed the gun from its locker and passed it to the agent.

“I shall endeavour to maintain that streak, Q. What’s the upgrade?”

“Grip the handle as usual and place your finger on the trigger.” Two seconds later, one of the 3 lights switched to amber. “That means the safety is off automatically.”

“Nice touch,” said Bond appreciatively with a smile. He removed his finger and the light went back to green. He holstered the gun. “Any reward for bringing this back in one piece?”

Q brushed by him dismissively to exit the room, saying, “Just try not to blow your cock off and we’ll see what we can do.”

Bond’s laughter could be heard across the bullpen, a rare and almost unsettling sound to the ears of Q-staffers who knew him too well.


	2. Chapter 2

_“I thought you were in the Navy.”_

“I was. Your point?”

_“When the bloody hell did you find the time to learn how to fly - never mind barrel roll - a sodding_ _Messerschmitt-Bölkow Blohm BO-105?”_

Bond paused for a beat, leaving Q with nothing but the sound of the helicopters blades cutting through the air. “You know in all our altercations since meeting, I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so turned on by your knowing the full name of this aircraft?”

_“Quartermaster's prerogative. And you haven’t answered my question.”_

“There’s so much you don’t know about me, Q. I’d love the opportunity to correct that over dinner.” 

_“Then I’d be rewarding you for losing my SIG-Sauer P226R. Mixed signals, 007,”_ Q retorted primly.

“But I managed not to blow my cock off. Surely that counts for something?” he shot back.

Now it was Q’s turn to laugh. _“Fine, you sodding arsehole. Dinner. But you’re buying,”_ he quipped, cutting the feed before Bond could reply. 

Bond shook his head and tilted the airborne beast forward hard, the horizon towards home in his sights.

* * *

“Dessert?”

Q had perused the menu but decided against overloading his belly. “I’m quite stuffed actually,” he replied, his look daring Bond to innuendo his way out of that comment. 

Bond merely raised his napkin to his lips. “Mmmm… I must agree,” he concurred, “and were I so inclined, they don’t appear to have what I’d care to partake?”

Q decided to bite. He was in a playful mood and Bond had, unsurprisingly, demonstrated nothing but the best to be expected of a evening’s company after a long day, a tough debrief post-Mexico mission and was even kind enough to take Q home to feed his cats before they headed out.

“Let me guess…” Q mused. “My powers of deduction are excellent when it comes to Double Os.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on the back of interlaced fingers. Bond watched the delicate movements, absorbing normally taut features softened by low light and good wine.

“Cupcake?” he said with mock innocence.

For once, Bond was content to be so easily read. “I thought you’d never ask…”

* * *

We actively seek out those we can trust, and when that trust is abused, we are left crushed, disappointed, sometimes a vow written into our hearts never to trust again. But sometimes life presents us with such people so fleetingly that we miss that narrow window and it’s long closed before we even realised it was there.

And sometimes, convergence; that rare tendency of unrelated animals to evolve superficial characteristics under similar environmental conditions, so subtle, it’s a gut punch.

They were standing in Q’s kitchen. Two cakes and two cups of freshly brewed tea between them. “My home, my rules, 007,” Q had said matter-of-factly.

“I may be in need of some assistance then. I’ve only witnessed one such encounter with a confection of this variety. You may have to demonstrate the best approach.”

Q was all too willing to oblige. “Why it would be my pleasure, 007,” he grinned. The warmth of the wine and the whiskey nightcap had obviously spread from his skin to his brain if his next move was anything to go by.

“Allow me,” he said, face turned serious as he picked up the bun and held it in front of Bond’s parted lips. So when said cake ended up with Bond’s nose buried through to the sponge, cream smeared across his cheeks, it took him about five seconds of surprise before kicking himself into response. Q was doubled over with laughter, backing away towards the living room. 

“You little fucking shit…” was the most eloquent muttering Bond could muster before moving to pursue his cake-wielding assailant. “What way is that to treat a valued asset of Her Majesty?” he growled, reaching for him and scooping him up to sit on the back of the sofa in the centre of the room.

“Why, so I can do this, 007,” Q replied, eyes sparkling with mirth, proceeding to lick the cream from his face, “method to my madness you see…”

“I see now,” Bond replied, wrenching him with controlled roughness against his body so he was nestled between the young boffin’s thighs. “One good turn, Q,” he growled, sweet coated lips set devouring the promised dessert.

Q was about to discover that a good barrel roll was not confined to the sky.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bonus scene.

The bedroom was submerged in darkness, Q’s blackout curtains doing the job they were tasked to do and keep out the soft but constant glare of London’s streetlights. It took him a few seconds to register what had awoken him so accustomed he had become to sleeping alone. The soft mumblings from the bed companion sprawled next to him penetrated the inky blackness.

“No…”

“My name is Commander James Bond,  Royal  _ **Naval** _  Reserve…”

“I am not at liberty…not liberty…”

“Bond. James,” Q spoke in a loud whisper, reaching blindly towards his voice.

“… liberty…! NO!”

“BOND! SHIT!” Q’s voice hoarse almost pleading, the grip tightening round his throat.

Q instantly balled a fist and swung it, connecting with Bond’s jaw, not hard, but enough to knock him back to consciousness.

Bond instantly released the hold and the next thing Q felt were warm dry lips against his neck. “Fuck, I’m so sorry…”

Q inhaled deeply, pushing Bond onto his back before attacking his chest. “Forgiven,” he mouthed against a nipple.

Bond was rapidly recovering his senses and orientation despite the darkness. He couldn’t help release a breathless chuckle when Q’s mouth landed on the crevice between his thigh and his hip. “Can’t believe we both fell asleep after nothing more than a makeout session and a quick hand job in the shower.”

“It’s been a longer than typical 72 hours,” Q murmured, setting his tongue to work on what only hands had been given the opportunity to see to several hours earlier. 

“If this is some sort of post-trauma positive reinforcement exercise…” Bond growled.

“I am very innovative,” Q whispered against sensitive skin, moving up to straddle his thighs, “and I very much appreciate your efficiency in the matter, 007,” he said, bearing down slowly upon him.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” the darkness beneath him whispered. “How…?”

“I was a little optimistic earlier and prepped when we got out… _out of the shower_. _Now.”_ Q bent to press their torsos together and kissed him. _“Shut. Up. 007.”_

“Sir. YESSSSSIRRR,” Bond groaned. 

And slowly, the demons in Bond’s darkness melted away, and angels moved above him in their stead.


End file.
